


Crazy

by thegayemu



Series: Brasskier's Tumblr Fics [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Geralt took the brain cell in the divorce, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Post-mountain breakup, Slow Burn, frenemies to lovers, no beta we die like Yen and Jask's respect for Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegayemu/pseuds/thegayemu
Summary: At first, she thought Geralt was crazy. He had to be. That could be the only explanation for why he let the absolute nuisance of a companion that was Jaskier tag along for two decades of on-and-off adventures.But after a few months of traveling together, Yennefer starts to think he might've been crazy for another reason.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Brasskier's Tumblr Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097822
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to finally get all my random little Tumblr fics up on here. It's just a happy little yennskier fic, because I needed to practice writing the two of them. 
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr :)](https://brasskier.tumblr.com/)

At first, she thought Geralt was crazy.

He had to be. That could be the only explanation for why he let the absolute nuisance of a companion that was Jaskier tag along for two decades of on-and-off adventures. She wasn’t crazy, Yennefer assured herself. There was a method to why she was letting the bard follow her around the Continent - that was, when she first found him at the bottom of a mug in the dingiest tavern Caingorn had to offer just after the dragon hunt, she had exactly zero faith that he’d manage to survive on his own. And she felt a little, tiny, itsy bit of sympathy, for how Geralt had treated him - not that it was  _ her _ fault, really - but, sure. He can come along. Just until she trusts he won’t drown himself in liquor the minute he’s left to his own devices. 

And gods, does he not shut up. Every hour of every day, it’s constant chatter. And if he isn’t incessantly running his mouth, he’s plucking at that damned lute, and she’s had to fight off the urge to snap it upside his head on more occasions than she can keep track of at this point. Even in his sleep, the bard isn’t quiet, mumbling incoherently to himself. (And ‘bard’ is about virtually all she ever addresses him as.) 

But sometimes, he’s not just talking in his sleep. Sometimes, it’s a night terror, and he’s flinging himself off his bedroll and flailing at intruders visible only to him, and she should be annoyed. She really should be, that gods-forsaken bastard disturbing her rest. But he looks so haunted (by what, exactly, she is not going to be the one to ask), and he sounds so unsure, and she can’t help but take pity. So, for the first time just a week into their joint travels, Yennefer begrudgingly extracts herself from her bedroll and slips into his, wraps her arms around him, and softly calls his name (his actual name, and not just “bard”, which is an improvement) until he stills and she can feel his breath even out. And then she deposits him back, tugs the blanket up to his chin, and returns to her bedroll so she can get back to sleep. And also because Melitele forbid she has to hear what he’ll come up with if he wakes up in her arms. 

To his credit, he tries to return her favors - and she is  _ very _ favorable, if you ask her. He performs at every last tavern she’ll let him stop at, puts the coin he’s earned to whatever herb or potion she needs or even just towards their dinner. And he never  _ asks  _ Yennefer to portal their way to their destination - though perhaps it’s as simple as years of “don’t touch Roach” has conditioned him not to ask for favors. Come to think of it, he doesn’t complain as much as she’d expected - as much as Geralt had claimed. Sure, he carried on from time to time. But if she told him to drop it - which she had no qualms doing - he did.

Sometimes Yennefer’s sad. No particular reason, she just  _ is.  _ And when all she wants to do is lie on her back and stare at the stars and think, he’ll put his lute away, cozy up next to her as close as he dares, and stare with her.  _ Silently.  _ Not even a peep. Sometimes Jaskier’s sad, not for any one reason or another. And when all he wants to do is curl up and  _ not  _ think, she’ll prop herself against the nearest tree and hum whatever tune she thinks might just make him feel better. It usually does. Allegedly, she has a better voice than Geralt. She believes it. 

It starts to actually get kind of easy to travel with Jaskier, loathe as she is to admit it. He’s not as high maintenance as she had anticipated, both for a noble and because of Geralt’s misgivings. She starts to think she might  _ actually  _ miss him, which she definitely won’t admit, but she definitely also won’t send him off anytime soon. For now, he can stay, and she almost wants him to. And he certainly wants to stay; she knows as well as he that he’s not cut out for stagnance. So she keeps going, and he keeps coming with, and that’s okay.

It starts to get cold, and when Jaskier offhandedly mentions that he ought to start heading towards Oxenfurt soon, she can feel her heart sink. But she’s not Geralt, she doesn’t have to run off and hole up in Kaer Morhen for the whole season. She doesn’t need to leave - he doesn’t need to leave. She mentions this as nonchalantly as physically possible, and Oxenfurt isn’t brought up again. 

It’s cold.  _ Jaskier _ is cold; he shivers himself to sleep at night. Against all better judgement, she slides into his bedroll, scoots him over so her ass isn’t on the cold grass, and rubs warmth into his arms. How Geralt had never gotten him warmer clothes is beyond her. And this time, she lets herself fall asleep there. She’s ready and accepting of whatever snarky comments he’ll have come morning light, but he never does. He simply stretches, yawns a “good morning”, and sets about breaking camp. 

She should’ve put a stop to it the next night when he set up his bedroll directly next to hers, lining up the edges neatly. Should’ve told him this was not some kind of permanent arrangement, something along the lines of “there’s a whole forest, bard.  _ Move.”  _ But she doesn’t, and they hold each other, and it’s okay. 

They’re in Oxenfurt proper - the city, not the Academy - and he’s drunk after a long night of performing. She’s definitely had her fair share, too, but not so much that his comment doesn’t hit like a punch to the gut. “When did you start using ‘bard’ as a term of endearment instead of an insult?” She doesn’t have an answer for him, so she shrugs. He laughs, ale sloshing about in his tankard, leaning forward on the table. It’s a beautiful sound, and she resents herself to thinking that.

The inn is warm and cozy. Jaskier shouldn’t  _ need  _ her to keep him warm. But she doesn’t fight it when he cozies up anyway. In fact, she’s not terribly sure she’d want to sleep alone. Having someone to fling your arms around is nice, after all. Her favorite part is right at daybreak, the handful of moments between her waking and his. He looks so young in his sleep, the crow’s feet and smile lines she’d teased him for all but gone, altogether almost more like a boy than a man who’s traveled the world. 

After weeks of this, she finally lets go of her pride, leans down, and places a brief kiss on his forehead. And when he blinks awake, tilts his head up, and blindly plants a sloppy half-asleep kiss on her cheek, she leans into it. 

Geralt  _ was  _ crazy, she thinks again. Not for letting Jaskier travel with him, but for letting him go. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just pretend I didn't ignore Yennefer's magic for like the whole fic lmao
> 
> Written for [my Tumblr](https://brasskier.tumblr.com/)


End file.
